


Boundless as the Sea

by lilshacc



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Domestic Avengers, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Protective Steve Rogers, SO MUCH FLUFF, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-20 22:46:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16147136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilshacc/pseuds/lilshacc
Summary: Ex-army Steve Rogers is quite happy with the life he's made for himself running his quaint comic book shop and living with his best friend in the lovely walk-up he'd purchased with his ex-fiancee before they'd parted ways. The last thing Steve's expecting is for the CEO of Stark Industries, Tony Stark to waltz into his shop a mere month after his infamous rescue from being held hostage in a cave in Afghanistan. It's all well and good until Steve goes and spills his hot coffee down the front of Tony Stark's probably hellishly expensive three piece suit. And then proceeds to invite him over.Or: the Notting Hill AU no one asked for (but everyone needed.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be an 'No Powers' alternate universe, so there shouldn't be any spoilers, if anyone was worried about that. Most of the information I've used is from the Marvel films, but since I've been getting into the comics recently and reading a lot of Marvel 616 fanfiction, I can't promise that I won't accidentally mix things in, though there shouldn't be any noticeable spoilers or deviations from the films. 
> 
> I tried to stay true to the plot of the brilliant romantic comedy, Notting Hill (starring Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant), but there are some inevitable changes that I had to make in order for the story to make sense in my mind. I absolutely loved the film, and so naturally I had to shove my two favourite people into the plot and see where it went. 
> 
> Updates will be every Sunday without fail until the story's finished. I love hearing your thoughts, so please don't hesitate to leave a comment down below once you've finished!
> 
> If you've read 'till the very end of this, thanks for sticking with me :) I won't keep you any longer....
> 
> Onward!!

“The heir to Fortune 500 weapons manufacturing giant, Stark Industries, made an astounding announcement earlier this morning at an unusual press conference. Stocks are expected to….”

Steve points the TV remote at the screen, flicking it off with a press of a button while scanning through the mail he’d been sorting. There isn’t anything particularly interesting; just the usual notices typed in bold red capital letters apparently meant to persuade them into paying their bills on time. Steve would love to start doing just as the notices so glaringly wanted them to, except for the slight issue of not being able to do so without also giving up food for an entire week. So that would be somewhat inconvenient.

A few months back, he’d started cutting down on things that they did not NEED to survive, including Bucky’s beloved gaming systems and their dishwasher which Steve had never really used anyway. Bucky had been adamant about keeping the TV, even going as to taking the sole responsibility for cable bills, and Steve had felt bad enough that he’d agreed at the time; a decision he was somewhat regretting now.

He sighs and gathers the scattered mail into a small pile and leaves it on top of their coffee table which doubles as their dining table. Steve glances out the window, frowning at the overcast skies and deciding to grab a coat on his way to the shop. He heads over to the kitchen where the toaster oven that refuses to work under pressure has for once elected to do its job and provide Steve with a nearly burnt bagel. He unplugs the toaster, and lifts the sad excuse for a bagel out of it. He always finds himself torn between trashing the useless kitchen appliance and keeping it, only because it’s the one thing he’s owned ever since he’d started living on his own.

Steve’s a sentimental guy. It’s just his thing. So he decides to think on it on the walk to the shop, knowing the toaster oven isn’t going anywhere just yet.

He’s almost out the door when he realizes he forgot his water, so he rushes back inside and pulls the fridge door open a little too aggressively. Steve rolls his eyes at the most definitely empty carton of milk next to his face on the second shelf, the lime green sticky note he’d stuck on to it labelled with the words “DON’T YOU DARE PUT IT BACK IN HERE” hanging precariously off the front.

There are multiple similar looking sticky notes in various places around the inside of the fridge, some notable ones being “PLEASE DO NOT EAT THE MAYO STRAIGHT FROM THE JAR” and “APRICOTS IN HONEY?? WHY??”

Most of those are addressed to Bucky, his strange eating habits something Steve has yet to get used to even after decades of friendship. Although, there are a few similarly aggressive ones on top of Steve’s jar of overnight oats, and the box of chocolates that are at least a year old from the time he’d bought the house with Peggy and never really had the heart to throw out after they’d broken up.

Again, Steve is a sentimental guy. Let him have his thing, Buck.

He grabs his water bottle and the empty milk carton before closing the fridge door and tossing the carton into the recycling bin. Steve glances at the clock hanging by the window leading out into the balcony and realizes he’s going to be a bit more late that he’d thought he would be. He silently hopes Clint’s already opened the shop as he makes his way out the door and into the street.

Steve walks out onto the streets of Brooklyn and breathes in deeply, a small smile settling over his face at the sight of yellow cabs hustling down the road, women clamoring about in high heeled shoes, men in crisp suits barking at their earpieces, street vendors and food trucks lining the sidewalks as early morning commuters haggle for a little trinket and line up for a quick bite. 

It feels as though nothing has changed in the years that he’d been gone, and though he’s been back in the U.S. for almost two years now, it’s like stepping back into an old, worn pair of shoes.

He eats as he walks, though Steve can’t imagine eating the rest of his frankly disgusting bagel after one bite, so he throws it out into the nearest trash can and decides to stop by a bodega before he gets to the shop. Steve opts for a falafel and forgoes the coffee, knowing he’s probably going to be back in a few hours to stave off the lack of productivity.

He reaches the front of the shop, his shoulders relaxing with relief when he sees that the lights are on and Clint’s already inside, dealing with what Steve assumes to be the first customer of the day. The outside of their little store reads “CAP’S COMICS”, in red, white, and blue, what had originated as a joke among his squad back in the army soon becoming Steve’s sole purpose in life after returning home.

The door opens inside with a little jingle signalling his arrival. Clint looks up from the cash register and grins at Steve, clearly happy with the fact that it’s barely been an hour after opening and they’d already got one customer. Steve waves back at him, and as he nears the back of the shop, he realizes the guy at the counter has purchased quite the number of comic books, spanning back a few decades.

The man notices Steve looking and smiles a little sheepishly. “My son recently decided to get into comics after all those crazy superhero movies came out. I’m not a big fan myself, so I got a bit of everything,” he nods back at his pile of books ranging from the early Avengers issues to more recent spin offs and graphic novellas.

“You’ve got quite the selection here. It’s almost overwhelming,” the man continues as Clint cashes up and the register displays his total on the little screen.

Clint shrugs, glancing at the shelves arranged against the walls around them, covered completely with comic books of different sizes and eras. “Yeah, well. We usually get a couple people coming in who know exactly what they want. They show up every week or so on the dot to pick up the newest issue of whatever,” he says before smirking at Steve. “Geeks, all of ‘em. Personally, I don’t see the appeal.”

Steve narrows his eyes at Clint as he makes his way around the corner. He bends over to grab a bag and starts carefully putting the man’s purchases inside as he grabs his wallet.

The man finishes paying and thanks them for all their help before making his way out of the shop. Clint disappears into the back and Steve settles down behind the counter with his sketchbook and colouring pencils (half Crayola as a joke from Bucky and half actual artist’s pencils), getting ready for a long day.

A few more people show up around noon, and they seem to know exactly what they’re looking for, so Steve sticks around near the back, keeping an eye out for anyone who seems like they need help. Clint emerges a few times to flirt with some of the girls (and guys) who show up with expressions of awe at the sheer amount of geek in the store, but retreats to the back every so often, inside from which Steve catches hints of intense opera music.

It’s a pretty busy day for them, though to any other moderately successful small business, it probably would seem fairly slow. It’s around mid-afternoon and the shop has mostly cleared out; there’s a young father with his very enthusiastic daughter at the front of the store looking at the Wonder Woman issues, and another woman who’s been peering at the more recently published graphic novels, and Steve doesn’t think Clint has managed to get to her yet.

Steve’s about to head out to grab some lunch for himself and Clint when the father and daughter duo come to him looking a little apologetic for some guidance, so Clint goes out instead. Steve helps them find the general area of comics that they might be interested in, pointing out the classics and some of his personal favourites, before heading back to the counter.

He’s working on another few panels of the little comic series he’s been writing for his neighborhood newspaper that receives very little attention, except for the lovely lesbian couple who live next door that use the paper to line their litter box. They do often mention to him how adorable his series is and that they make sure to read his comic before using the newspaper for their cats, so Steve feels that still counts as a win.

He’d been stuck on a topic for this week’s issue, but the thought of his neighbors’ cats has him drawing little kittens getting into trouble with balls of yarn, so he decides to just go with it. Steve’s working on shading in the curly tail of a kitten when there’s a jingle and the door is pushed open. He looks up, expecting Clint with their lunches, but it’s just some guy who looks a little fancy for an obscure comic book store.

Steve returns his gaze to his half finished work, quickly feeling himself grow restless when Clint fails to show up. A few minutes pass and he hears a bit of a commotion up front so he looks up again, his gaze more wary as he searches for the source.

It’s the father and daughter from before, except the fancy guy who’d walked in a bit earlier is with them. They’re speaking in low voices so Steve can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but the father is looking at the other guy with an expression akin to awe as the guy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pen. The little girl holds up a notepad and the guys smiles, reaching down to lightly tap her nose before signing the empty page.

Steve squints at the guy who’s starting to look increasingly familiar with every blink, but he can’t seem to place him. The father still looks a bit star struck, but he manages to extricate himself and his daughter from the fancy guy’s side, bidding him farewell before heading out with more than a few lingering looks.

The guy turns then, bringing his fingers up to pull his sunglasses off his face. Steve’s eyes widen in recognition, the brief clip from the news story that’d been running in the background flashing to the forefront of his memory as he catches a glimpse of him.

Tony Stark, graduated from MIT before he could get a learner’s permit, spent the last four months in rehab, the youngest CEO of a Fortune 500 company; the titles run through Steve’s mind like a newsreel as he watches Tony Stark walk around his comic book shop.

Though Steve's spent most of his life in Brooklyn, he’s never really had any celebrity encounter anecdotes to tell. Sure, there was that one time he’d been at the farmer’s market and he could’ve sworn Taylor Swift had been peering at the soup cans the next aisle over, but then again, he’d been on heavy painkillers for a knee fracture that never really went away.

He glances up at Tony Stark, who’s now paused near the section housing the vintage Iron Man comics. He’s got his back turned to Steve, so naturally, he abandons his work to take a closer look.

Tony Stark doesn’t seem much younger than himself, although the fancy suit and sunglasses probably do a lot to help him look older than he really is. Without the glasses though, he looks very young - like he could be a normal boy in college, heading down to the comics shop to grab something to procrastinate with. Steve watches, feeling like a bit of a creep, as Tony Stark runs a hand through his styled hair, dragging his fingers through the dry ends stuck together with product. He’s still thumbing through the Iron Man issues, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as he frowns in concentration.

Before he can stop himself, Steve’s already out from his safe spot behind the counter, walking with dumb purpose towards Tony fucking Stark.

When Steve reaches him, he looks up at first with surprise, though Steve can see when his gaze shutters closed. His fingers twitch as if they want to reach for his sunglasses, but he closes them into fists by his side and then crosses his arms over his chest. Everything about him shouts “stay away”, and Steve finds himself feeling bad for this young man, who probably has more than he ever will, although only materialistically.

Steve’s puts on my what he hopes is a friendly smile, and approaches him as he would with any other customer.

“Hey, I was just wondering if you needed help with anything?” Steve starts, gesturing at the wall of comics behind them. “You’ve been over here a while, so—“

“I’m sorry, is the purpose of a comic book store not to browse?” Tony Stark interrupts, his voice dripping with cool sarcasm. He’s got one eyebrow raised and his face is the picture of calculated calm, though his arms tighten across his torso.

“No, no! That’s not what I was trying to say, um, here, how about I start over?” Steve suggests, holding his hands out in apology. “It’s just you looked like you were looking for something, and I thought I could help you find it. Just tell me to go away, and I’ll stop bothering you though, no hard feelings.”

Tony Stark watches him with weary eyes before relaxing, shaking his head at himself and offering Steve a tentative smile. “God, I’m all over the place today. I’m so sorry, it’s just I’m looking for something for my godson and I have no idea what exactly I’m looking for.”

Steve smiles warmly at him. “Yeah, we get that a lot. If personally recommend the earlier Avengers comics. Lots of kids are really getting into them after the new movies came out.”

Tony Stark follows Steve to the very large shelf dedicated to every single Avengers comic, all the way from the original issues from the sixties. He looks more than a little overwhelmed, and Steve finds himself feeling a little amused at seeing genius Tony Stark falter at the sight of a few superhero comic books.

He turns to Steve wearing a sheepish grin. “Is there anything you’d recommend?”

Steve turns to the shelves, more than happy to be asked to geek out over his favourite superheroes and their crazy adventures. He walks Tony Stark through the essentials, and tries not to overwhelm him by pointing out too many things at once.

In the end, Tony Stark ends up getting a few vintage Avengers comics; some of Steve’s absolute favourites. Steve cashes him up, and he doesn’t think the cash register has ever had a transaction made with a black Amex card before, but there’s always a first for everything. Tony Stark thanks him for his help, slips his sunglasses on, and walks out of Steve’s shop.

Clint returns a few minutes later with his face stuffed full of meatball sub and a brown bag full of hopefully, Steve’s lunch. He heads over to the back, casting a confused frown in Steve’s direction.

“Hey, what’s up with you? You’re lookin’ a little less normal than when I left you.”  
Steve blinks and turns away from the door, the smell of delicious food hitting him right away. He eagerly reaches for the bag, shoving a hand inside and pulling out a wrapped sandwich.

He’s halfway through the pastrami sandwich when he catches Clint staring at him bemusedly.

“What?” Steve asks, or he tries to. It ends up coming out more like “whuf”, but he assumes Clint gets the idea because he snorts and settles down next to him behind the counter, licking meat sauce off his fingers obnoxiously.

“Also, the craziest car was parked outside,” Clint goes on, oblivious to Steve’s frown at his unpalatable table manners.

“Oh yeah, Tony Stark was here.” Steve mentions offhandedly, his eyes swiveling back to his sandwich as he watched Clint choke on his sauce. He enjoys the gaping fish impression Clint’s trying on for a few seconds, before caving with a goofy grin.

Clint opens his mouth in disbelief, shoving at Steve’s broad shoulder with a snort. “You dick! Nothing ever happens when I’m actually here and this punk tells me the richest guy in New York shows up while I’m getting sandwiches.” He shakes his head with a little smirk before basically inhaling the rest of his sandwich. “Nice try, Steve. Maybe next time,” Clint grins at him sloppily before reaching into the bag to pull out two cans of ginger ale.

Steve pauses in his rapid inhalation of the pastrami to clutch at his chest over his heart in faux disbelief. “You got ginger ale? What happened to ginger ale’s sole purpose being to soothe the stomachs of the weak?”

Clint grumbles under his breath, opting to snap the tab open and taking a deep swing of his soda. Steve follows suit, abruptly realizing his very expensive sketchbook is still open and next to his elbow in very close vicinity to his dripping sandwich. He pushes it away with his elbow before lifting the ginger ale to his lips again and taking a long drink.

They lapse into a comfortable silence as they continue to demolish their respective lunches, and then Steve goes back to work on his comic, while Clint slouches in his seat and thumbs furiously at the screen of his phone. Steve vaguely hears the satisfying bubbly noises of Candy Crush, and fervently hopes to himself that he hasn’t beaten Steve’s current high score yet.

The rest of the afternoon goes pretty slowly, though Steve manages to get Clint to clean out his self dubbed man-cave in the storage room of the shop, and they help two more customers make their purchases before settling down to close the shop for the day. Clint probably notices Steve getting restless, so he sends him out on a coffee run, and Steve’s grateful for an excuse to leave the shop for a bit.

He heads on over to the little hipster coffee shop next door that serves the best cold brews in mason jars, which for some reason Steve finds to be very appealing. He gets two cappuccinos to go, chatting with the cute barista as he makes Steve’s coffee. He’s seen him around before, but Steve’s never really mustered the courage to do anything about his little coffee shop crush. The only thing that’s come out of it is Bucky and Natasha’s endless teasing about his life being a really fucked up rom-com that’d only be aired on TLC every Valentine’s Day to make other people feel simultaneously shitty and better about their own lives.

Steve’s coffee arrives in a little tray, and he thanks the barista before briskly walking out into the chilly early autumn air, one hand leaving the tray to clutch his coat more firmly around his body. He heads past a frozen yogurt shop and a donut shop, and both times he has a little debate with himself in his head on whether or not more sweet things is a good idea. He eventually decides on going without the donuts or the frozen yogurt, though he knows that Clint would hit him upside his head if he ever found out about him electing not to get more dessert.

His strides are quick and long, and he barely stops at one point to take his coffee out of the tray and take a quick sip in a vain attempt in staving off the cold for a little longer. Steve’s turning the corner sharply when someone walks straight into his chest. His coffees go flying, as Steve and his poor assailant tumble to the ground.  
“Watch where you’re going, asshole,” the guy mumbles as he picks himself up off the ground, pursing his lips as he gingerly pulls his now wet and very stained shirt away from his chest.

“God, I’m so sorry. Ah, let me get that,” Steve mutters in a slightly panicked tone, grabbing a stray napkin and making for the guy’s wet shirt, not really knowing what he’s going for here.

The guy pulls away from him and looks up, his eyebrows raising in disbelief. Steve finally takes a good look at him and realizes with his stomach churning uncomfortably that it’s Tony Stark. 

The very same one he’d helped out pick a comic for his nephew, oh maybe a few hours ago. So much for a fun celebrity encounter anecdote.

“It’s you, again.” Tony Stark says almost in awe, like he can’t believe Steve’s actually here.

Steve grimaces and rubs his hand against the back of his neck, way past being awkward at this point. “Yeah, it’s me. Listen, I’m so sorry, I should’ve been looking where I was going. God, I’m such an idiot—”

“Hey, hey. It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ve got a change of clothes somewhere, and if not then hey, I think I can make coffee stains a new thing,” Tony Stark offer with a comforting smile, gesturing at his wet shirt. But Steve feels completely awful and he looks around desperately for something to help.

“Um, I live just around the corner. It’s the walk-up with the blue door over there,” Steve says pointing to his house. “You can come with if you want, maybe get cleaned up?” He takes a look at Tony Stark’s apprehensive face and immediately backtracks. “Or not. Completely up to you. Just, if you want, it’s an option.”

“If I say yes, will you please stop talking?” Tony asks, with a teasing smile that’s not condescending at all. He shoves his hands into his pockets boyishly, the plastic bag with the comics he’d purchased from Steve’s store dangling from his thin wrist.

“Yeah. Yeah, come on, it’s right this way, Mr. Stark.”

Tony Stark makes a pained noise and stops following Steve, firmly planting his feet on the ground. “Man, you just spilled coffee on a thousand dollar suit that’s not even mine. The least you can do is not call me ‘Mr. Stark’ and make me feel like my drunkard of a grandfather.”

Steve pauses and frowns a little. “It’s a respectful address.”

“Yeah well, don’t do it. Fuck respect. You spilled coffee on me, you call me Tony.” Tony Stark insists with a snarky grin as they walk along the sidewalk towards Steve’s place, both of them absolutely drenched in hot coffee, and apparently wearing clothes that were not actually theirs.

“Yeah, alright. Right this way, Tony.”

“Better.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony’s been having a rough day so he ends up wandering around, eventually stumbling upon a cute comics store. He ends up quite literally, running into some not entirely unwanted trouble that might just turn his mood around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks to all of you who left kudos and comments, they keep me motivated and never fail to make me smile! I’m thinking of updating every Sunday, so stay tuned and have a wonderful week :)

“Yeah, Obie I get it, okay? It’s not like you haven’t called me about this oh, about three times every day for the last week,” Tony speaks exasperatedly into the phone he holds up against his ear, one hand signalling for a cab as he stands at the edge of the busy sidewalk.

“Obie, come on. When have I ever let you down, huh? Damn it, Obie, I should’ve known you’d bring that up, but let me just say that was one time, I was very young and stupid, and that magazine editor was really—HEY, FUCK YOU,” Tony shouts at the guy who nearly clips him as he speeds right on past him. “Sorry, Obes, asshole driver. What was I saying again?”

A bright yellow cab finally stops in front of Tony and he ducks inside, leaning forward in his seat once he’s sat down to give the driver the address. He stretches his legs out as far as they’d go (which isn’t very far) before slouching back against the worn leather of the seat. The cab takes off and Tony tunes out Obie yapping into his ear not long after.

He leans back and watches the tall prisms of buildings flash with the light of the mid-morning sun as they zoom past, though the small joy that brings only lasts for so long as they come to a halt behind a brown sedan that Tony hates on sight. New York traffic is an absolute relentless bitch, and yet he loves the damn place all the same.

It’s been a long fucking day filled with meetings consisting of SI’s board members staring disapprovingly down their noses at him and Tony bearing it all with a smile that made him feel more like a Madame Tussaud wax figure than the CEO of a multibillion dollar company. Oh, there was also the minor press conference he’d thrown spontaneously to announce the shutting down of weapons manufacturing at Stark Industries, which turned out to be their main gig.

Also, he’d been held captive in a cave in the middle of a scorching hot desert in Afghanistan for three months, coming out of it with shrapnel in his chest and a miniaturized arc reactor that apparently keeps him alive now.

So yeah, Tony hasn’t exactly had the best year so far, but he’s determined to make things turn around for the better, if not for him then at least for the thousands of young Americans in the forces who are being killed by the very weapons Tony’s been designing, naively thinking that they would help help them.

So far, he’s had minimal success. The board very strongly disapproves of his decision, most of them suggesting that Tony cannot be trusted for the time being as he’d just undergone months of severe trauma, on top of the fact that he’s still very young and inexperienced, and therefore they should be in charge until Tony gets better. Tony’s undergone heavy psychological evaluations predicting the reaction from his beloved Board, deeming him to be fit to run his company. He’d also preemptively started meeting with a therapist weekly, knowing these allegations were going to be made in his near future, which had earned him a spot on the cover of multiple gossip rags accompanied by the very attractive title of “TONY STARK, LOSING HIS MIND?!”

He’s getting there though. Tony’s slowly earning the support of lots of millennials who hadn’t cared for or had been strongly against Stark Industries’ main selling point prior to his announcement earlier that very morning. It’s only been a few hours and his company has managed to garner its very own hashtag which was now trending nationally on Twitter and Facebook: #StarkGoesGreen. Tony kind of loves it.

Obie’s been on his case since he brought it up the night before, citing Tony’s months held hostage which the public wasn’t privy to would eventually get out, and that there would be huge amounts of backlash that Tony wouldn’t be able to handle. But the thing is, Tony knows what he’s doing. As much as it looks like an impulsive decision made by a severely traumatized man, which he’s gotta admit, it partly is, Tony really has put a lot of thought into it. He’s been thinking seriously about it since he got back from Afghanistan, and even before that in the cave. And even if this turns out to be the end of Stark Industries, though he strongly doubts it would come to that, he doesn’t want to be running a company that makes weapons for profit anymore. He doesn’t have the right to make any more excuses for what he’s been doing.

“Yeah, you know what, how about I call you back, Obie? I’ve got this thing I need to be doing — yeah, we’ll talk soon. Or you will, and I’ll listen.” Tony hangs up without listening to any more of Obie’s protests.

He suddenly wants to get out; the inside of the cab quickly becoming suffocating even with the windows rolled down a crack and his suit jacket already shrugged off. They roll to a slow stop once again and Tony helplessly gazes out the window, watching the streams of people entering and leaving a Starbucks around the corner.

“Let me out here. No, yeah that’s fine. Here, take this,” Tony says hurriedly to the driver, the panicky feeling crawling up into his throat as he hands him a wad of cash and lets himself out of the cab. The cars in the next lane over go insane with the honking as Tony sprints across the street to the sidewalk, his breath coming out in harsh pants.

Tony starts walking then. He doesn’t really know where he is; apparently somewhere in Brooklyn by the signs scattered along on telephone poles nearby, but he continues onward, slinging his jacket over one shoulder and averting his eyes underneath his tinted shades. There’s no doubt that people recognize him as he passes, but thankfully no one approaches.

He reaches the Starbucks he’d seen earlier in the cab and debates on whether or not he should go in and grab a coffee or something, because God knows he needs one. Ultimately, Tony decides he’d much rather stay on the down low and walks on, no particular direction or destination in mind. It’s nearing late afternoon and he’s probably missed some meeting with Someone Important, and usually Tony wouldn’t give much of a damn, but today he feels a sharp stab of guilt. If he doesn’t give this his all, he very well could lose the company to a bunch of profit-minded, ageing sharks.

Tony waits for the light to change at a crosswalk, his hands shoved into his pockets and his stomach churning with feelings he can’t quite place. He keeps walking, past a farmer’s market bustling with activity, a variety of fruits and vegetables in bright colours out on display; past a hipster coffee shop, and then another. Tony finally arrives at a fairly quiet side road compared to the hustling main streets of Brooklyn. There’s a park to his right and he catches sight of a small gathering of young parents equipped with strollers and weighed down by diaper bags, watching as their chubby toddlers climb up the juggle gym and roll down the big red tube slide. 

He’s approaching a cat cafe at his next crosswalk when he feels his phone vibrate within the confines of his pocket. Tony sighs and fumbles for it, his apprehension instantly turning into relief when he takes a look at the screen displaying Pepper’s name in all capital white letters. He drags his thumb across the slider on the screen before lifting the phone up to his ear.

“Hey, Pep. Listen, before you—”

“Tony, where the hell are you? Your one o’clock meeting with Frankfurt was supposed to have started twenty minutes ago!”

“I’m not going. I’m in Brooklyn.” Tony says, almost missing the light and walking right into oncoming traffic. He stops himself hastily with an apologetic wave to the driver waiting to make a turn.

“What do you mean you’re not going? Tony, you’re the one who decided to do this, you can’t skip out on meetings if you want this to work.”

Tony huffs out a frustrated breath and raises his free hand to rub at his forehead anxiously. He misses the next light as well. “Yeah, I’m well aware of that, Pepper. I’m just,” he takes a shaky breath and releases it through gritted teeth as he feels his throat closing up again. “Just please. Can you tell him something came up and I had to reschedule? Tell him we can do lunch at that French place we usually take big shot clients, or something. Please, Pep?”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line and Tony knows she can tell he’s feeling off. Not that he hasn’t been off in the weeks after his return from Afghanistan, but he rarely begs his way out of an important meeting, especially not one he’s spent so long working to get. She can definitely tell he’s at the end of his own line.

“Alright fine. I’m rescheduling for noon tomorrow at Les Poissons, and I’ll tell him you weren’t feeling well. We’re talking about this over breakfast tomorrow, you hear me?”

Tony smiles to himself and nods once before remembering she can’t actually see him. “Yeah. Breakfast sounds good. Thank you, Pepper.”

“Take it easy, Tony. I’ll talk to you soon.”

He’s left listening to the dial tone after she hangs up, belatedly realizing he’s missed his third light. Tony slides his phone back into his pocket and waits for the light to change once again. 

He’s casting a look around for somewhere he could hang out for a bit to clear his head, when he spots a tiny obscure store he probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking.

The light changes and Tony crosses the street, squinting his eyes in a feeble attempt to try and read the blocky letters adorning the outer slate grey wall of the store.

‘Cap’s Comics’, the three dimensional letters read in a black Times New Roman font. Why would anyone put black letters on a grey wall? It’s like they didn’t want to be seen. Also, Tony doesn’t remember seeing a comic book shop since the eighties, what with most comics being readily accessible through online subscriptions nowadays. Intrigued, he makes his way inside, instantly feeling comforted by the many shelves lined up against the walls practically overflowing with comics of all kinds. He wonders how such a small store with such a specific niche obtained so many vintage issues, before his eyes fall on the large box located near the storefront labelled “GIVE US YOUR FORGOTTEN COMICS! WE NEED THEM MORE THAN YOUR ATTIC DOES!!!”

Tony’s lips quirk at the message, and he leans over the bin, his eyes going a little wide in surprise at the piles of old comics people had placed inside. He rights himself and makes his way further into the store, craning his neck to get a good look around.

The shop has a very cozy atmosphere, with well loved comics and books littering the small area, the large windows letting in streams of sunlight that illuminate the shop in a soft glow. There aren’t many people in here; a young man and a little girl who Tony presumes to be his daughter are near the back of the shop, the father enthusiastically showing the girl a stack of comics that is steadily growing in his arms. Tony smiles at the pair and turns around in what he hopes is a decently covert manner, keeping his shades in place. It really wouldn’t do to get recognized here.

He finds himself casting back to when he was an avid comics reader back in high school, when he was too smart for his peers and not smart enough for his father. Tony used to read the Captain America comics religiously as a teen, not like he was the only geek obsessed with Cap back then, but Tony had had all the action figures and the special edition comics that came with the cool posters that he’d hang up on the wall across from his bed to, erm, admire.

Tony remembers when his father took all of it down one night when he’d burst into Tony’s room stinking of booze, his voice too loud in the quiet of the night and his face set in an angry scowl. It had been the first of many times in his life that Tony had been truly terrified of Howard.

He circles around the inside of the shop, keeping his head down and his hands shoved into his pockets. Tony marvels silently at the series that he recognizes and even stops occasionally to flip through some of the more recent, local releases that look promising. He finds a few that he actually thinks he may enjoy, and holds them to his chest to purchase when he’s had his fill of the store.

When Tony looks up to take another glance around, his gaze falls upon the man sat behind the counter with a sketchbook spread out in front of him. He’s engrossed in his work; the coloured pencil looking comically tiny in the grasp of his large fingers. Tony’s mind immediately flashes to an image of the gentle elephant that made paintings with its trunk. He grins to himself, only just managing to hide his smile behind a hastily brought up fist as the man looks up suddenly.

He’s big and blonde, like one of Pepper’s personal fitness trainers, though his fingers gently move the bright blue pencil across the page with a sort of grace Tony finds himself curious at. The guy drops his gaze back down to his work and Tony turns to the shelf of graphic novels he’s wandered in front of without realizing.

Tony ends up spending a lot of time in the little comic book store in the heart of Brooklyn. At some point the little girl tugs at his jacket and shyly asks for his autograph, presenting a blank notebook to him that Tony finds more endearing than he probably should. It’s pretty obvious that the little girl’s dad had put her up to it, as Tony is fairly certain that six year olds aren’t aware of the goings on of large weapons (not anymore) manufacturing companies and their wayward young CEOs.

He’s still stalling with his measly pile of comics at the back of the store when the beefcake blond guy appears in front of him as if Tony had summoned him unknowingly, a hesitant smile on his face and recognition in his eyes. He helps Tony with his ‘dillemma’ of finding a present for his completely non-existent nephew who apparently loves the Avengers now.

The guy cashes him up at the front and Tony’s sure he’s just itching to say something about Tony being Tony Stark, but he doesn’t to Tony’s ultimate relief and mild surprise. He bids Tony a pleasant goodbye, telling him he hopes the nephew enjoys the comics they’d picked out, and they part ways. Although somehow, probably because of the crazy and completely unnecessary wiles of the universe, Tony finds himself drenched from head to toe with the beefy guy’s hot coffee, as he walks in step with beefcake himself to his walkup that’s apparently “just across the street”.

Tony doesn’t know how he gets himself into these situations, although he supposes he can’t be blamed with this one as he was just minding his own goddamn business. He’s not really complaining though. Beefcake had gotten his fair share of coffee on his crisp white shirt, which would actually be a shame if it didn’t cause said shirt to go all see through, allowing Tony a prime view of his delicious pecs and perky nips.

They walk in silence, Tony shivering slightly as the cool breeze causes his wet shirt to stick to his skin uncomfortably. Beefcake next to him doesn’t seem to be faring any better, although he’s also muttering to himself and the distinctly red hue his cheeks had turned after the incident is still staying strong. Tony decides to cut him some slack and stares ahead at the emptying streets as they head further into the residential area.

Beefcake leads the way as they walk straight on across the street speeding up to a two-story walkup that’s sandwiched between a coin laundromat and a hole in the wall pizza place that looks just a little sketchy. Not enough to scare Tony away from what could be the best pizza he’s ever had though.

Tony waits patiently behind Beefcake with his arms tightly hugging his torso to quell the shivers as Beefcake fumbles with his spare key. He finally manages to get the door open and makes haste to get inside, ushering Tony in and then awkwardly placing his hands back down by his side. Tony smirks although he doesn’t mean it in a rude way, he’s just amused. The guy’s just invited him into his home after all, the least Tony could do is be a little nice. Even though he’s covered in rapidly cooling coffee and his (not his) suit is probably never recovering from this.

“Um, here, you can leave your things out here. The bathroom’s down the hall to your left, and I can bring you a change of clothes,” Beefcake pauses hesitantly here, his eyebrows set in a frown as he takes in Tony’s appearance. “You can leave your soiled suit in there as well. I can have it dry cleaned for you, if you want.”

Tony finds himself a little floored by how sweet this guy seems. He suddenly feels a little remorseful at having spent the last five minutes calling him ‘Beefcake’ in his head. Feeling a little speechless, Tony nods stiltedly and they both stand there at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor looking more than a little idiotic.

The guy apparently decides he’s had enough of their silent standoff and abruptly makes for the stairs, his movements jerky and awkward. “I’ll be right back,” he calls as he jogs up the stairs, leaving Tony stationary as ever as if he’s lost all ability to remove himself from this situation.

He could easily have Happy come pick him up with a change of clothes on hand, or even call a cab to come get him, and yet, Tony finds himself walking towards the direction of the bathroom as if in a daze. It’ll be too cold to wait for a cab, he tells himself, too rude to leave after the guy had been so sweet to him. So Tony makes his way into the admittedly tiny bathroom; it’s so small the backs of his calves brush against the toilet with every small movement. Tony finds himself not caring as much as he thought he would as he strips himself of his very expensive suit, dropping each article onto the ground as he goes.

There’s a tentative knock at the door as Tony’s trying to pry his wet socks off his feet (how had the coffee ended up there??), and he gives up for a second to push at the lock with his thumb and open the door so a little crack forms.

The guy squeezes a ball of bundled up clothes through the crack in the doorway though they refuse to go through the tiny space. Tony pulls the door open an inch more, hesitant as he’s down to his lime green boxers with images of tiny pineapples wearing sunglasses dotting the fabric, an article of clothing he would never wear except on stay at home spa evenings with Pepper, which was how today was supposed to end up. Blondie manages to shove the clothes through and Tony manages to grasp onto the soft material of well worn jeans and pulls.

The harshness of the gesture causes the door to slide open even more and Tony can practically see his dignity sliding on to the floor, slithering far, far away from him. Beefcake’s lips quiver as he fights a smile, keeping his eyes trained on Tony’s definitely reddening face.

“Uh, do you want to pass me your suit? I can get my roommate to run it over to the dry cleaner’s before you go.” Blondie asks hesitantly, seeming a little more confident than he was when they’d first walked in. Tony’s sure it was the “deal with it” pineapples that did it. Yeah, celebrities really aren’t all that different, except for the millions of dollars and occasional super expensive borrowed Armani suit that Tony never takes care of as much as he should.

Wordlessly, Tony reaches for his own bundle of soiled clothing, shoving it through the now not-crack at Beefcake. With a muttered thanks he turns to leave, closing the door behind him.

Tony frowns and makes a grab for the doorknob as it moves farther away from him, pulling the door open, more so than it was previously. They both look down at Tony’s distinctly memey pineapple covered nether regions and promptly look away again.

“Hey, can I at least know who I’m wearing?” Tony asks in a very weak and half-hearted attempt at being witty, and he winces internally and possibly externally as well when Blondie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, his hand lingering on the doorknob as he pauses to consider the question.

“Um, Target? I actually don’t remember where I got that shirt it might’ve been Goodwill actually,” Beefcake pauses and his cheeks colour that magnificent shade of red again; it makes his face resemble the colour of Pepper’s fire engine red lipstick. “That’s not what you were asking.”

Tony grins, and lets his hand falls from the knob as he shakes his head no. “I’ll admit, I could’ve phrased that a lot differently,” he clutches the jeans and navy blue sweatshirt to his chest as they stand in the middle of the bathroom doorway, Tony half naked and wearing meme pineapples. 

“What I wanted to ask is: what’s your name? I mean, I am standing in your bathroom in what’s very possibly the least flattering pair of underwear that I own. The least you can do is tell me your name.”

He looks at Tony with an indiscernible expression on his face that looks like its been sculpted out of marble, like the work of Botticelli or the guy who used his nails to carve out the statue of the Thinking Man or someone. “Steve. Steve Rogers.” He finally says, and there’s not a lack of amusement in his tone.

“Huh, are you sure about that? I was pegging you for a Justin, or actually a Dustin.” Tony remarks with a twist of his lips as he leans slightly against the half open door.

Steve cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, of course, because the ‘D’ makes all the difference.”

Tony tilts his head and stares at him for a moment before he’s laughing, his sides aching with the force of it. Soon, he’s not the only one gasping for breath on the floor of Steve Rogers’ tiny bathroom, tears streaming from their eyes, God knows why. Tony reckons it was the steaming hot coffee. Made them delirious.

“I’ll, uh, leave you to it then?” Steve finally says as he rights himself and turns to leave, pulling the door shut behind him as he goes.

Tony stares at the door long after Steve has left, before realizing he’s standing in a stranger’s bathroom, sans clothing. Not that it’s a situation he hasn’t ever found himself in before, but he flushes in embarrassment nonetheless as he climbs into the shower. He faces the very basic set of white tiles that make up the shower wall, and looks up at the tiny shower head sprouting out of the tiles way up over his head.

He glances down at the two taps; one he assumes lets out cold water and the other hot, but he can’t for the life of him figure out which is which. Or how to get the water coming out of the shower head. Tony sighs and berates himself silently for not asking Steve how his shower worked before letting him leave, and eyes the shower with mild disdain.

Tony’s own shower at home was equipped with its own waterproof touch screen and six shower heads with twelve different settings, one of which spouted water in a rain like fashion which was his go-to shower setting. Why couldn’t everyone have showers that were somewhat sentient and followed Tony’s instructions for the most part?

This wasn’t exactly going to be the ideal situation, but Tony had been designing military grade weapons during middle school. This shouldn’t turn out to be much more difficult than that.

Ten minutes finds Tony crouched in front of the tap, buck naked and muttering to himself as he fiddles around with the little pin that he’s vaguely sure is supposed to be pushed down.

Twenty minutes finds him sprawled on the floor of the shower, covered in bits of plaster from the ceiling and shivering in a little puddle of cold water and probably his tears.

It’s thirty minutes gone when there’s a hesitant knock at the door. Tony groans from his spot on the floor, leading the knocking to turn into a frantic jiggling of the doorknob.

He picks himself up off the ground, barely managing not to slip and die, and holds onto the shower curtains with a firm grip as he steps out onto the conveniently placed bath mat with smiling puppies all over its fuzzy surface. Tony scrambles to the door as Steve starts calling out his name in concern, opening it just a smidge so he could stick his head outside.

“Hey.” Tony smiles sheepishly, watching in surprise as Steve stumbles away from the door at the sight of his head.

Steve frowns at Tony’s distinctly dry head in concern. “Everything alright? I just—” His face goes pink and his eyes dart away. “I couldn’t hear the shower and I thought….” He trails off, obviously embarrassed. Tony’s not sure he’ll be feeling quite the same after he finishes revealing his own mortifyingly prolonged battle with the shower.

“Right. Well, you were right to worry, I guess,” he gestures to his hair and steps away from the door, letting it fall open a little more. “I couldn’t really, uh, figure it out?”

Steve’s frown comes back, except he just looks really confused and kind of sweet. Tony’s mind unhelpfully flashes an image of the smiling bath mat puppies in comparison.

“You couldn’t….figure it out?”

Tony flushes. “Yeah. I don’t get your shower.”

Steve blinks at him after that particular statement is issued, probably wondering why the hell he let this idiot into his home. Tony shrugs at him helplessly, and crosses his arms over his chest in defence.

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” Steve asks, still looking pretty clueless as he steps past Tony and into the tiny space with a brief questioning look.

Tony rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make him sound pathetic. He clears his throat. “I thought I could handle it?”

Steve looks at him over his shoulder with a small smile, before crouching in front of the faucet. 

“Don’t worry about it. Any shower that’s not mine completely messes with me as well.” He turns to fiddle with the tap and there’s water shooting out of the shower head before Tony can finish blinking.

The water gets everywhere and Steve flinches back as it pours onto him, effectively knocking himself into Tony’s bare chest. He quickly reaches out with one hand to pull the curtains closed and turns around.

Tony’s breath involuntarily and completely unwillingly catches in his throat as they stand in the cramped bathroom with their chests brushing against each other. He looks up past Steve’s parted lips, his wide blue eyes, and the bit of wet blond hair flopping over his forehead. Tony resists the sudden intrusive urge to brush Steve’s hair away from his eyes by curling his hands into fists by his sides.

They’re both flushed and breathing heavily, and Tony thinks if someone doesn’t do something soon he’s sure as hell going to be forced to do something very stupid like punch Steve in the mouth, gently, and with his own mouth.

Steve ducks his head and reaches out to fumble with the doorknob, pulling it open a little more aggressively than necessary and practically sprinting out the door. Tony swears he hears him mutter, “enjoy your shower” as he practically runs outside.

Shaking his head a little to clear it of— whatever just happened, Tony gets inside, quickly finishes cleaning up under the traitorous shower, dries and dresses himself with the spare towel and clothes Steve had brought in earlier.

He emerges out of the bathroom at last, unable to not feel a slight sense of triumph over the shower, even though he hadn’t managed to figure it out on his own after all. Tony pockets his phone and tentatively heads back down the hall he had come from, which leads him into the front entrance area of the little townhouse.

Steve hovers nearby in the kitchen and looks up when he hears Tony enter. He gazes up and down the length of Tony’s body in a way so unintentionally unsubtle and dorky that Tony finds himself feeling genuinely pleased at being checked out so innocently. 

Clearing his throat and swallowing obviously, Steve turns back to look inside of the open fridge he had been peering into prior to Tony’s entrance. “Uh, would you like something to drink? Anything to eat? Coffee? Juice?” He frowns and pauses, before pulling out a jar of what looked to be apricots soaked in honey. Huh. “Some of this?”

Tony finds himself a little speechless and shakes his head no with a tiny smile as he watches Steve rummage through the refrigerator again. He casts a look around the quaint little kitchen. There aren’t many things in it, but Tony gets a homey vibe from the place. There are pots and pans hanging neatly on the wall next to the sink, the white Frigidaire is covered with various pictures sticking to the surface with round silver magnets. The window above the sink is open just a crack, and Tony can feel the evening breeze filter through the screen.

There’s a tiny kitchen island which he assumes also doubles as the dining area, going from the fruit basket and dirty dishes sitting out on top. Those Einstein lights that Tony’s recently heard Pepper and Rhodey gush over during their last trip to Ikea hangs over the island, currently turned off but still adding a nice touch to the setting.

He sees Steve pull out a glass jug of water from the fridge and grabs them both two glasses from the top shelf of a cabinet near his head. Tony catches sight of several little Post-It notes stuck inside of the cabinet and in various places around the kitchen. There’s even one on the dirty plate sitting on the kitchen island.

Steve sees him looking and smiles a little sheepishly as he pours them both a glass of chilled water. “Those are mostly for my roommate. I’m a neat freak and he’s—“

“Not?” Tony wonders in amusement as he looks at the empty cup of yogurt sitting next to a half full cup of coffee on the counter next to the sink. There’s a bright yellow note stuck on it that says, “GET RID OF THIS OR IM GETTING RID OF YOUR KINDER EGG SURPRISE STASH!!!”

Steve chuckles ruefully. “Something like that, yeah.”

Tony grabs his water and chugs it all in one go. He’s about to ask about the black and white photo stuck to the fridge with a Garfield magnet when his phone vibrates intensely in his pocket.

He fishes it out with an apologetic glance at Steve, before glancing at the screen that is flashing a threatening image of Pepper smiling innocently up at him. Tony also realizes then, that it’s a quarter past three.

“Shit. Fuck. Pepper’s gonna kill me.” Tony grimaces as he ignores the call and sends off a frantic apology text to Pepper, standing abruptly from his bar stool at the kitchen island.

“Right, you probably have things to do. Sorry for keeping you,” Steve apologizes, before standing up himself to retrieve Tony’s plastic bag full of the comics he had purchased earlier from his shop.

Tony still can’t seem to find any words, and feels like a douchebag as he stands there and looks up at Steve for a moment, before reaching out to take his bag from him. They head down to the front door, and Tony can see the black Audi parked out front waiting for him. Pepper must’ve sic’ed Happy on him when he didn’t pick up his phone, but he wonders how he got here so fast.

Steve reaches past Tony awkwardly to grab the door for him, and Tony stumbles backward into Steve’s broad chest as the door opens. His brain is yelling at his feet to move, and his mouth to form words, but instead, Tony turns around to face Steve, who’s standing in the doorway wearing a faded black Jurassic Park shirt, his hair softly mussed and his gaze imploring.

He takes the step that closes the distance between them. Tony can hear Steve’s breath hitching and Happy honking at him from inside of the car. He ignores it all and lifts up onto his toes, pressing his lips to Steve’s in a chaste kiss.

Steve’s hands flutter at Tony’s shoulders, before they come to rest ever so gently at his waist, pulling him minutely closer as he reacts. Tony feels his lips move against his own, tentative and soft. It’s over just as it’s begun, and he’s left wondering who pulled away first. Steve gazes down at him, his eyes blown dark and his lips stained pink. He brings a finger to his lips, as if he can’t quite believe what’s happened.

Tony steps away from him before he can say a word, before Tony himself could start freaking out. He jogs down the stone steps and ducks inside of the open passenger’s side of the car. Just as they’re pulling away from the house, Tony turns to glance at Steve, who’s still standing in the doorway, staring out at them in confusion. Tony’s lips quirk in a smile, and Steve’s face is the last thing he looks at before he rolls up the window.


	3. Chapter 3

“Don’t forget the dip,” Natasha yells in the vicinity of the kitchen, and unfortunately also directly into Steve’s ear. He winces and shoves her away playfully, eliciting an innocent apologetic look that would make any other man cow under its power. Steve, who thinks himself to be a little more read than other men when it came to Natasha, mostly because he doesn't hang out with her for her bra size but because she's brilliant, sticks out his tongue in retaliation.

“Alright, alright, it’s comin’. If you want it so bad, why don’t you come get it yourself?” Bucky calls out in reply from the kitchen, where he’s busy putting together their big bucket of takeout chicken wings, along with his famous seven layer dip that they absolutely refuse to watch any game without.

Nat smirks up at Bucky when he emerges through the doorway leading to the kitchen, his arms brimming with buckets of chicken and various other game goodies that has Steve’s mouth watering.

“What’s the deal with having you boys around all the time if I can’t get a little service every now and then,” she quips, watching as Bucky sets their food down on the low table that’s already piled with popcorn and two cartons of Ben & Jerry’s. He shakes his head, slow and disbelieving, swooping down to smack a kiss onto her lips.

"Service, huh?" Bucky grins with a wicked gleam in his eyes that Steve has learned long ago means the next words out of his mouth are not going to be enjoyable ones. "That sounds a little toppy, Nat. I like it."

“Get a room, you kinky assholes.” Sam says in feigned disgust as he walks in moments later, carrying a tray lined up with extra large cups of soda; Mountain Dew for Bucky and Nat, root beer for himself, and orange Fanta for Steve.

“This is my room. You’re the one who’s intrudin’, Wilson,” Bucky makes a face at him and makes grabby hands at the drinks, only to have Sam pull the tray away from him with a mean look of his own.

“Technically, it’s also my room seeing as I pay half the rent, and I want my soda.” Steve says, with one eyebrow raised at their whole dick measuring contest that everyone has grown beyond tired of. Sam wordlessly hands him his beloved orange Fanta, and Steve mutters a thanks before pushing his straw in through the lid and gulping down large amounts of the best kind of orange soda there is.

Bucky slumps into the couch on Natasha’s other side and Sam sits down next to Steve, carefully balancing his bucket full of deep fried chicken wings soaked in BBQ sauce on his thighs as he settles in. Natasha reaches for the remote on the coffee table at their feet, turning up the volume as the players run out into the stadium. They’re holding onto leashes and Steve watches with delight as dogs come bounding out at their sides.

They watch the game with bated breath, the occasional crunch or slurp of a drink adding to the noise and clamour of the action happening on the screen. There’s a commercial break, during which Bucky starts muttering under his breath as he unfolds himself from the couch and stands, cursing about the ref’s “bullshit calls”. Sam gets up as well, collecting their empty bowls and dip dishes before he heads into the kitchen for refills.

As soon as they’re both out of sight and Steve is left alone with Nat, she lunges away from his side to grab at the remote that Sam had left behind on his way out (Sam was always the one who got the privilege of controlling the remote, because he was decided to be the most fair and reasonable. He was also the owner of the sole Netflix account that all of them mooch off of). She points it at the TV and mutes the Snickers commercial that Steve was quietly enjoying (he loves every single Snickers commercial, because he thinks they are hilarious), and turns to him with an expectant expression on her otherwise flawless poker face.

Steve raises an eyebrow at her questioningly, preoccupied with slurping the last dregs of his orange Fanta out of his giant takeout cup. Nat mirrors him by raising one of her own perfectly shaped eyebrows Bucky and Clint are very vocally jealous of because they’re on “fleek”, as the youth (minus Steve) have dubbed it these days.

Finally, Steve removes his lips from his straw. “What," he asks, though her face remains impassive. She glances back at the kitchen, where Bucky and Sam are loudly bickering about whether pizza and ketchup could be considered an acceptable combination of delicious food items that should probably not go together.

Natasha turns back to him and sighs, her lips quirking a little. “Go on, spill. Game’s going to start again soon.”

Steve starts sweating nervously even though he isn’t exactly aware of what exactly she wants him to spill about. Maybe she found out about him stealing her fuzzy reading socks when he was sketching up on the roof, because it got really cold up there sometimes and Steve couldn’t ever find good fuzzy socks that didn't cost him an arm and a leg.

Nat rolls her eyes at him fondly and reaches out to smooth her hand down the fleece material of the blanket draped over his shoulder. “I found something in your kitchen the other day,” she pushes her hand inside of her hoodie pocket, bringing out a bright pink sticky note with the words “Thanks for everything, Steve.” and “I’ll call you.” The initials TS were scribbled into one corner. 

Steve stares at the note wordlessly, his eyes wide and unbelieving. His first thought is that it must’ve been Bucky fucking around with him, or that it must be some sort of mistake, but there’s a small part of his brain that knows it’s him. He finds that he’s not particularly keen in indulging that thought, though he fails to come up with another explanation he could use as an excuse.

Nat gazes at him with those thoughtful omnipresent eyes that have never failed to terrify any of them, her head cocked to one side as she watches him. “Want to tell me who you’ve been entertaining?”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply before the game starts back up again and Bucky and Sam are hustling back into the living room, throwing themselves back onto the couch. Nat presses the note against his palm and closes his fingers around it when Steve doesn’t seem to be capable of doing it himself. She turns back around to face the TV, stealing popcorn from an increasingly irritable Bucky and shoving her feet into Sam’s lap, but Steve knows that she’d be back with more questions the second the game ended and he would eventually be forced to tell her.

The rest of the game goes by in a blur for Steve, who sits with his bowl of untouched popcorn with his fingers curled around the pink Post-It. There’s another commercial break and Bucky leans over Natasha to slap Steve’s knee and loudly ask for his opinion on how much of an abject failure the game is, leading Sam to reply sarcastically about the sudden expansion of his vocabulary.

When the game finally ends and they’ve all been sent home with leftover junk food and beer that their fridge simply refuses to contain, Steve sits at the kitchen island where he had sat with Tony Stark just a few days ago with the now crumpled up pink note sitting on the table in front of him. The house is completely dark save for the dim light of the bulbs hanging above the island where Steve has sat himself, and he’s not worried about Bucky clamoring downstairs for a midnight snack, because he’d headed home with Nat.

He finds himself reading the words scrawled hastily on the little square of paper, and though they are already well ingrained into his mind, Steve still finds himself staring at them almost unseeingly.

_I’ll call you. ___

__Wasn’t that what they all said, and never really managed to follow through on? Steve knows he should probably put it all out of his mind; it wasn’t as if anything productive would come out of thinking whether the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company that he had spilled coffee all over would call him or not. So, Steve pushes back his stool from the table, crumples up the pink Post-It and deposits it into the overflowing trash can before turning off the lights and making his way down the hall to his bedroom._ _

__Steve wakes up early the next morning to go on his run and then heads into Cap’s Comics to open up shop. Clint’s off for the rest of the week on a mandatory holiday that Steve had made him take, so he sets up camp at his usual spot behind the counter with his sketchbook and pencils spread out in front of him. It’s a fairly uneventful day for the most part, except for when a very tall and confused looking man shows up looking for a copy of Winnie the Pooh, and Steve has to explain to him that they don’t sell novels here. He shows up again an hour later looking for Jane Eyre._ _

__When he arrives home in the early hours of the evening, Bucky’s at home kneeling in front of the coffee table with a wide array of small tools set out in front of him. A vaguely familiar episode of Friends is playing on the TV screen, which Bucky doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to as he drives a tiny screwdriver into the open panel of his prosthetic metal arm._ _

__Steve takes the remote from where it’s laying abandoned on the couch and turns down the volume slowly so as not to startle Bucky from his work. He’s unwinding his wool scarf from his neck and hanging up his light jacket when Bucky notices him and turns around to face him with a grin._ _

__“Hey, Stevie. How was work?” He asks, his attention returning to his arm when Steve walks into the room and around the low table to sit down next to him on the ground._ _

__Steve shrugs and watches him work, his brows furrowing in a frown. “Slow. Hey, why don’t you take that in? I don’t think you should be doing that on your own.”_ _

__Bucky scoffs as he gently prods his way inside, carefully avoiding a thin wire that’s sticking up in a way that Steve doesn’t think it’s supposed to. “I would if I could afford it.” He hurries to interrupt Steve when he hears him make one of his probably patented noises of disapproval. “Listen, Steve, it’s fine. I can fix her up better than any one of those fresh-faced geeks, and it doesn’t cost us a cent.”_ _

__Steve’s lips go thin as he eyes Bucky fiddling with the screws on the panel, the wires even sparking ominously at one point as he works. He sighs and leans his back against the couch, radiating worry._ _

__“Hey, we know you like bein’ all Papa Bear like, but do you remember who drove your dumb ass to the hospital when you got your head bashed in one of the many back alley fights? ‘Cause I remember that very vividly, bud.” Bucky quips, carefully shoving the wayward colourful wires back into the open panel of his prosthetic arm. He flips the panel shut with a satisfied hum._ _

__“I could’ve taken care of myself,” Steve grumbles half-heartedly, expecting the snort of disbelief that Bucky makes in response as he opens and closes his fingers to test out whether his tinkering had actually worked. The metallic fingers move smoothly, although Steve can see the little ticks already starting to develop in their movement. He wonders how long it’ll be before Bucky would have to start hacking into it again._ _

__“And by that, do you mean you would’ve bled out next to some stinkin’ dumpster? ‘Cause that’s what I’m hearing, Steve.” Bucky teases with a grin, deliberately waving the metal fingers of his prosthetic in front of Steve’s face to bug him._ _

__Steve rolls his eyes at him fondly and swats his arm away gently. Bucky did have a point, and although he would never actually acknowledge that he was right, Steve would accept it in the small rational part of his brain._ _

__As a kid before the miracle growth spurt during his senior year of high school, Steve had spent most of his childhood in and out of hospitals and doctor’s offices because of a combination of very unfortunate recessive genetics that had brought about a myriad of health issues. His mother had even home-schooled him at one point, though that hadn’t really worked out very well due to the fact that she had been their sole source of income, and couldn’t very well stay home with Steve or afford a tutor._ _

__He got picked on at school, but that was never something that had deferred Steve from standing up for himself or anyone else who couldn’t fight for themselves. A fighter, his mother had always called him while she shook her head with a fond quirk of her lips, carefully dabbing antiseptic at his various cuts and bruises that were starting to accumulate._ _

__“Wanna get some pizza?” Bucky calls from the kitchen. Steve blinks, not having realized that he had gotten up and left the room some time ago._ _

__“Sounds good. You know what I like.”_ _

__Bucky pops his head back into the living room with a sly grin on his face. “Vegan, right? No cheese, spinach and mushrooms?”_ _

__Steve hurls the nearest cushion at his smug face._ _

__“Meat Lover’s it is, then.” Bucky picks up their landline phone (Steve doesn’t know anyone else their age who still has a landline, but they haven’t gotten rid of it yet because Bucky’s mom still can’t figure out how to use her cell phone when she's over at their place), and Steve can hear him dialing the number of the pizza place._ _

__Steve turns up the volume on the TV and idly shifts his attention to the abysmal disaster of Ross saying Rachel’s name at the altar instead of Emily’s. What an absolute idiot._ _

__He’s almost finished with the episode when Bucky finally reenters the living room with his dark brows furrowed into a frown, the phone still in his grip._ _

__“Pizza is a go, it’ll be here in twenty. Also, someone named Tony called you? Said to call the Four Seasons and then said a completely different name.” He looks down at Steve like Steve’s up to something and Bucky’s on to him. Which he is most definitely not._ _

__Steve leaping up to grab at the phone probably is not helping his case though. Bucky jerks the arm holding onto the phone away from him, backing into the kitchen, his frown getting more suspicious with every swipe Steve makes for the phone._ _

__“Who’s Tony? Is this what you and Nat were talking about yesterday when me and Sam were getting more chicken?” Bucky asks, obnoxiously holding the phone high above his head and then moving it away fast when Steve gets too close._ _

__“It’s no one,” Steve tries very ineffectually, if the otherwise comical shooting up of Bucky’s eyebrows says anything. “Fine. It’s not no one. Give me the phone and I’ll tell you.”_ _

__Bucky cackles. He honest to God cackles, before shoving the phone down his pants with an almost childish look of vindication. “Nope, you go first, Steve-o.”_ _

__Steve glares at him. Without any shame at all, he reaches out to pull the waistband of Bucky’s sweatpants away from his stomach and is about to shove his hand inside when the phone starts ringing wildly and drops down one of the legs of Bucky’s pants, hitting the floor with a loud clatter._ _

__They both lunge for it, but Steve gets to it first with a triumphant shout. He hastily presses TALK and holds the phone up to his ear._ _

__“Hello?” It comes out too loud and his voice cracks on the last syllable. Steve winces and Bucky smirks, only half trying to hide it behind the back of his hand._ _

___“You played it real cool there, waiting for three days to call.” ____ _

____Steve’s heart kicks in his chest when he hears the smooth drawl of Tony’s voice through the receiver. He shoves away from Bucky and heads back into the living room, twining the coiled cord around his finger as he goes. Bucky snickers not quietly somewhere behind his back._ _ _ _

____“Oh, no, I promise you I’ve never played anything cool in my life. It’s just — we’ve got a landline, right? And we only use it to call my roommate's mother and the pizza place and —”_ _ _ _

____Tony chuckles on the other side of the line, and Steve fights the urge to face-plant into the couch as he thinks back to what he said. He’d just told the CEO of a tech company that makes what are arguably the most technologically advanced smartphones on the market, that he still used a landline. Bucky’s snickers turn into full blown guffaws, and Steve gropes the couch for another suitable object to throw at him._ _ _ _

_____“That’s actually very sweet. But please tell me you have, like, an actual cell phone. If it’s a flip phone, I’m sorry because you are gorgeous, but I’d have to hang up.” ____ _ _ _

______Steve smiles even though Tony can’t see him. “Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got an iPhone then.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Tony groans on the other end of the line. _“I can’t decide if that’s worse than the flip phone. Tell you what, if you come around at around seven, I’ll show you what an acceptable phone looks like.” _____ _ _ _ _

________“How about some coffee, instead?” Steve suggests, his smile growing wider with every word and Bucky’s loud laughter abruptly cutting off as he sidles up beside him, trying to catch a word from Tony._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Tony laughs and it’s all distorted because their landline never carries sound well, but Steve still thinks it might be the best sound he’s heard in a while. _“I usually never say no to coffee, but I don’t think us and a hot drink is a good combination. Come around at seven, I’ll try to find us something a little less….dangerous.” _____ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Right. Right, great. I’ll see you then.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________“See ya, Cap.” _Tony says softly, and then he hangs up. Steve’s left listening to the dial tone for a good thirty seconds before Bucky pounces on him from behind and sends them both crashing to the cushion-less couch below.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Who was that? Why are they at the Four Seasons? You got yourself a sugar daddy, Steve?” Bucky asks in one breath, keeping a struggling Steve pinned to the couch as he grapples for the phone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Get off me, you big lug.” Steve manages to shove him off and they both sit slumped down on the couch, Steve unable to keep the wide, dopey grin off his face and Bucky, pouting mightily._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Who’s Tony?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Steve turns to him with a blank face, and then they’re both laughing for no reason at all, flushed and gasping for breath as they look at the phone that has fallen to the carpeted ground at their feet. Bucky heaves a deep sigh, attempting to pull himself together as he shifts so he’s facing Steve with an eager expression._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“So? Are you gonna tell me or am I gonna have to withhold pizza?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Steve gasps exaggeratedly, holding a hand to his heart. “You wouldn’t.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Bucky raises an eyebrow, and they both know he totally would without an ounce of regret._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“C’mon, Stevie. Spill.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________So Steve recounts the story with resign, pausing exasperatedly when Bucky starts to laugh so hard he wheezes during various points, and valiantly fighting the embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck during others. When he’s finished, the doorbell rings as if on cue, and he leaps up at once, grateful for the distraction._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The conversation is put on hold for the pizza, and they’ve devoured about half of it before Bucky licks a stray string of cheese on his wrist and looks across the box settled on the low coffee table at Steve. “Tony Stark, huh? Bit of a jackass, if you ask me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Steve frowns around his mouthful of hot pizza, swiping at his mouth with a napkin before speaking. “You can’t know that, Buck. Give him the benefit of the doubt.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Bucky shrugs and reaches into the box for another slice. “Hey, m’not judging or anything, man. I just want you to be careful.” He looks up at Steve, surprisingly gentle. “You don’t do the whole one-night stand schtick.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Trust me, Bucky. I’ll be fine.” He shifts his gaze down to his lap, resting the hand holding his pizza on his knee. “To be honest, I don’t even know why he bothered to call.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He feels a large hand settle on his other knee and Bucky shakes his head at him. “Shut your face, Steve. I don't wanna be hearin' that bullshit," he says with a frown, lifting his hand away to shove the rest of his pizza into his mouth. "Stark’s weird, alright? His parents died almost a year ago, he’s running a company and he’s not even twenty five. And I know all that from Sam’s stupid tabloids he can’t stop buying.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________It was true. Sam was a real gossip. Steve chuckles and finishes off the rest of his pizza._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“All I’m sayin’ is, I think you should give it a shot. Lord knows you need to get laid, Steve. But be careful, alright?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Yeah. Always am, Buck.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


End file.
